Reflections
by stitchingirl
Summary: Elliot writing down his thoughts about everything, as suggested by a therapist.


Reflections

It's raining out. I can hear the rain softly hitting the windows outside. There were a few times when I felt envious of those water drops. As if God was cleaning his soul. Coming clean about everything. As I sit here on the couch in my apartment, I can feel the jealousy starting to bubble again. It's not fair that someone else can come clean, while I feel like I'm constantly paying for my choices.

Choices.

It wasn't my choice for the divorce. That was Kathy's doing. Finally fed up with my angered silence. The disrupted dinners or not even coming home because some new bastard attacked someone. In all my efforts to keep the darkness from reaching my family, I didn't know that the darkness had already consumed me.

I can't really say when I first felt that tug of being pulled under. The single moment that I could look back and say, "This is when it all started going downhill". Anger just became a part of me. Lashing out at wrong moments, on the wrong people, or even too much during interrogations.

The wrong people. Three words that could describe the added feeling of guilt that I carry around with me. Olivia, of course, being in that category. Kathy always believed that I wanted to spend more time with Olivia than I did with her. No matter how much I tried to deny it, there was a small sliver in me that thought Kathy may have been right.

Olivia was so different from Kathy. I met Kathy in high school. We had gone out a few times, one of those times resulted in her being pregnant. She was pregnant. I was nearly 18 and I was going to be a father. I can still see the look of disappointment in my father's eyes. To him I was just the shining example of a complete screw-up. I proved his belief when I had to tell him that I got Kathy pregnant.

Life wasn't the easiest for two young people just starting out in the world with a baby attached to the hip. We struggled to make the best of our circumstances. But if it wasn't for her parents and mine, we would've been sitting in the dark a few times or have no heat during the winter months. No matter how much my father thought I was a screw-up, there was no way that he would allow his first grandchild to be punished for my mistake.

Discipline was the word that my dad threw at me all my life. I had no discipline. That's when I first thought about the military. It would give me the discipline that I seemed to lack that would make taking care of my family, while being able to provide them with something. I wasn't planning on making a career of it. I wanted to be a cop. Just like my dad. Maybe then he would finally be proud of me. Tell me that he was proud of me.

Being a cop ran in my family. Both my dad and grandfather were police officers. I remember my dad coming home and how I would touch the badge on his uniform. To a ten-year-old kid, that gold shield demanded respect and toughness. No one messes with you when you wear that shield. But first I needed discipline.

The military wasn't exactly as how it was portrayed on TV. They don't show the constant berating from commanding officers. Or the ten mile hikes at sunrise. Or even how the food doesn't look anything like you've had before. I sure was getting the discipline now. The Marines were going to make "a man" out of me. But just as soon as I got used to the tortuous antics, my time in the military was done.

Kathy was there during my graduation. I can still remember how beautiful she looked in her flowered dress. My parents were also there. I remembered that I prayed to whoever was listening for once to let my mom not do something crazy. This was my time. It was about me. Not trying to talking my mom out of one of her crazy illusions. I could fill hundreds of notebooks about all her crazy antics, but why even bother rehashing everything? Nothing good could come of it.

This isn't my idea anyways. Me spilling out my feelings and that out on a piece of paper. But it's what someone suggested. To write it all down. Something about getting a better perspective of myself.

I have a good perspective of myself. I know that I'm angry, but I can't always help it. I would say to whoever says it's a problem to come and do my job for a couple days and see if they're not angry afterwards then. To see those assholes who peddle kids, beat the ones that they claim to love, just get to walk away. The victims that they leave behind are never the same after their ordeal.

I guess that's where Olivia comes into play. She seems to be the only one who isn't afraid or tired of my anger. She didn't have the fairytale childhood either. Her mother was an alcoholic who was raped. I wish I could find the bastard who hurt her mom, but I'll always be eternally grateful that her mother didn't seek out an abortion. The world needs Olivia Benson in it. All those victims she's ever helped who still call to let her know that they're doing okay. What would've happened to them if Olivia Benson was never born? I'm glad that the world doesn't have to find out.

It's hard for me to put to words my feelings about Olivia. The one shining spot in my world of darkness. I don't know how many times I've got into trouble and if it wasn't for her...who knows what would've happened. Fired and disgraced would be the least of my troubles.

I don't know what else I'm suppose to write. Or even if this helped in any way. It's just words on a piece of paper. It doesn't change anything. I'm still sitting here alone in my apartment, while Kathy and the kids are going on with their lives. I don't know what changed between us, but I don't think I'm all to blame. How can one person be to blame for the destruction of a marriage? I never hit her, or cheated on her, or countless other things that I see on the job.

For the first few years, Kathy would try to plead to me to switch to Queens SVU, but I stayed in Manhattan. Maybe I had some idea that if I could clean up the filth in the city it wouldn't come creeping into Queens. Only it did come creeping in the house. At the expense of Maureen. Nightmares that plagued her dreams for weeks on end. Kathy then just stopped asking about the transfer. She stopped asking a lot of things. Or even stopped talking. I still had a vague idea of what the kids were up to, but that was it. Nothing about her day. How do you start to tell your wife about the things that I see? No one should have to witness it if they don't need to. Maureen could vouch for that one. I still carry the guilt about that. That I was unable to stop the darkness from seeping into our home. That I failed as a parent to protect my child.

The nightmares have stopped some time ago, but I can see that it changed her in some way. No one is ever the same after seeing those images. Especially those who aren't prepared for them like my baby was.

What can I say about Olivia outside that she's different from Kathy? Olivia is fiercely independent as well as protective. I've seen her barely flinching at some asshole's words than turning around and cradling a crying child until they got all their tears out. It takes a special person to do this job. And Olivia is definitely a special person.

For the longest time, Kathy would get this expression on her face whenever Olivia would call me. Like she believed that Olivia and I were concocting a plan to sneak away together. What did she think we did, make out over the dead bodies at crime scenes? The truth of the matter is that neither of us have ever done anything inappropriate. Ever. Her and I do have a close bond. Best friends. Comrades. Colleagues. One that was formed years ago and continues to get stronger.

How do I explain that to Kathy? It's not a matter of wanting to be with Olivia more than my own family. But Olivia has been there by my side for the past six years. How can we not form a bond? It's nice to know that I'm not always expected to share my feelings. Especially when there are no words for witnessing the destruction of someone's life. Maybe Kathy can't understand because it's different in her family. Her mom and sisters are always talking and sharing things in their lives, no matter how mediocre they may be.

It was different in my family. My dad was a police officer, but never made it further than his assigned beat. The force would eventually punish him for not ratting out his colleagues by yanking his pension. All those lives that he tried helping to make better and that was the thanks he got. Fired and no pension. My mom didn't help matters. Today her behavior would be classified as being bipolar. Back then clinical diagnosis didn't exist. She would have just been thought of as being eccentric.

I'm hoping that the legacy that I leave my kids is not one borne of anger. I want them to experience the best that life can show. Not the moments when anger fills you up and have no outward release for it. Dickie is my only son. There are times when he acts just like me and it scares me. What if my anger is what he gets from me? Like some sort of demented heirloom. Another part of me worries that my mom's behavior might sweep over to them. The crazy thoughts that rush through their heads. Being careless with money and going out on spending sprees, buying weird shit. Kathy tells me that we'll deal with it if it starts to happen, but I don't know if I can deal with it.

Being the son of someone who has mental illness is bad enough. But being the parent of one? Carrying around the stigma of having a child who has mental illness. Like there's something wrong with you that infected your kids. Like you're cursed in some way.

I think my mom felt that way. I remember coming home from school one day and the entire living room was lit up with candles and in the middle of the room was my mother on her knees praying to God and to his angels to come and take her away. I remember I was scared that she would get her wish. That angels would come down and swoop from the Heavens and carry my mother off with them. Leaving my father and I behind.

My relationship with my dad was always shaky. Moments when he would remind me that I wasn't good enough. Or how I was a pansy for crying too easily. I don't know. Maybe after dealing with my mother, he had no patience for his son. I try what I can to make sure that I'm not like that with Dickie. I don't want my son growing up second-guessing himself at every turn. Hoping that if he does one thing right that his father will look at him with pride shining brightly in his eyes. Everything that I wished my father would have done.

Kathy knows about my family history. She's constantly telling me that I'm not my father. I don't know if I fully believe her words. I can see myself in fits of anger like my old man. Moments where I say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. Moments when those close to me end up getting hurt. Moments when I know that I am my father's son.

It's now almost the end of October and there's a chill in the air. I sit here in my lonely apartment and listening to the rain, while I continue to write. I'm not sure if writing all this out has helped. I'm not even sure what if it accomplished what it was supposed to. If I'm the only one reading it, how does that help me? But I'll try anything just to stop the fighting. I know that it can't be good for the kids to hear us go at each other.

I just pray that one day I'll stop feeling like I've failed them. I imagine that I see looks of disappointment in their eyes if I looked close enough. Those same expressions that were on my father's eyes whenever he looked at me.

But like I said, the divorce isn't my idea. I know that we fight a lot. But what happened to her vow of "for better or for worse"? I don't remember the vows being "for better or until it starts getting too hard".

I still love Kathy. I just wish sometimes she saw things from my perspective, you know? I deal with the worst scum of the city and then to come home and listen to her bitch because I didn't call or came home late? This isn't a 9-5 job. I don't make the hours. I think she regrets me becoming a cop. Maybe she had thought that I would be working security at some warehouse where I would have steady hours. But it's not like that.

I don't think she understands why I don't want to transfer to Queens. She probably thinks that it has to do with Olivia, which it sort of does. In a way. I don't trust anyone else to have her back. Not when I can do it. I've been doing it for eight years now. Just as she's had mine. But the biggest reason for not leaving is that I don't want to start over again.

I'm Detective First Grade. I've worked too long and hard just to transfer somewhere else that would be at the bottom. I would still hold my position no matter where I go, but I'd be the "new guy". The one that no one knows. Plus there's a lot of dings in my jacket. Cragen has continuously stuck his neck out for me. More than he should. Just to up and leave would almost be like a slap in the face to him. I respect him too much to bail on him.

Maybe Olivia does have a part of it. After...well, let's just call it the "incident", I'm not sure I'm ready to walk away from her. I thought that I lost her last year. Just the idea of that possibility chilled me. We both know that something could happen to us each time we go out there on the streets. But it just seemed so far away that it completely shook me to the core when I was faced with that possibility. The day that she got hurt still scares me. I feel like I've failed to protect her as well. First Maureen, then Kathy, and now Olivia. There's always someone who ends up paying for my mistake. Like the minute that I look away, someone close to me gets hurt.

Maybe part of my anger comes from the hurt that I feel from others. Kathy left me, but now we're trying this counseling thing to try to stop the fighting. Learn to communicate better for the sake of the kids. Damn therapy. I hate talking to therapists. Every time I do, I end up getting kicked in the teeth over it.

New York law states that the only way for a divorce to be granted, outside of abuse or abandonment, is to live apart for more than a year. It's been going on two years since Kathy left me. So, I've lived in this apartment for nearly a year and a half now. Six months of coming home to an empty and dark house. Six months of realizing that she wasn't coming back. One day she had just called to tell me that I needed to find my place, that it wasn't fair to the kids for them not be at home. Not fair to the kids? What about it not being fair to me? To us? How is it fair that she got to leave with my kids and I didn't even get a say in the matter?

A letter was all I got. Sitting on the kitchen table with just one sentence, "I can't do this anymore." No explanations. No chance to try talking about it. Nothing. Just a Dear John note. She couldn't do this anymore. That was the only thing written on the paper. She couldn't even tell me this to my face? To let me know ahead of time that she was even thinking about leaving? What about warning a guy before you decide to cut him loose? Or at least let him know that you're thinking about it. Nothing. Just walked into an empty house. I don't want to talk about this right now. I don't think I'll ever get over feeling as if she abandoned me, taking my kids with her. I know she's their mother, but she's still my _wife_. For better or for worse. Remember that Kathy? Or have you forgotten that? Guess it doesn't matter, since this letter isn't for her benefit. It's suppose to be for mine. I don't want to talk about this anymore.

Back to Olivia. She's back in town. Has been for the past couple of months now. It's strange having her by my side everyday again after she just basically bailed on me, too. I ended up working with Dani Beck. She worked in Warrants and was so different from anyone that I've worked with before. I don't know why she transferred into the unit. She stood out from her first day. And not in a good way. Dani had no experience with dealing with victims of rape and child abuse. A few times I tried telling her not to get too involved in the cases that they would end up breaking your heart. The truth was that I didn't want her to get too used to the victims. That would mean then that Olivia was truly gone. And I couldn't deal with that fact.

I could lie to myself every morning by thinking that Olivia was on vacation or had the day off, instead of letting myself admit that she was gone. That I had said or done something that made her flee. The damn FBI might have grabbed her for a case, but in my eyes, her leaving was my fault. Again.

We barely talked about the time she requested a new partner and got transferred into Computer Crimes. The only thing Cragen said was that we needed a break from each other and that the decision was made. The decision was made. Yet another one that was made without me. What was it about people leaving me without letting me know? Do I not get a say about whether or not someone gets to leave me? How is it that I don't get a decision in all this?

I got used to working with Dani. Maybe that's not the right word. Maybe I accepted that I had to work with Dani. She had her own demons to deal with. Her husband was killed while on the job. I know what guilty thoughts go through your mind after something like that happened. A few years ago, my partner Dave committed suicide.

I remember thinking that I had somehow missed the signs. Or I should've done something different. It was in the middle of high publicized case. One that we just couldn't solve. That was just too much for Dave to deal with. We both felt as if we had let Debbie Cooper's parents down. I still remember getting the phone call that Dave had shot himself.

Maybe my old man was right. Maybe I am just nothing but a screw-up. Each ding on my jacket just makes my credibility just that much less. I'm surprised that I'm still considered a credible witness on the stand. I keep waiting for the defense lawyer to stand up and tell the court that I tarnish everything. People and my own job. Just look at my history of failed relationships, friendships and marks because of my anger.

I think it stopped raining. I don't hear it hitting the roof or the windows. I wonder what the kids are doing? It's gotta be late. It feels like it's late. They're probably asleep. Maybe I'll give them a call in the morning. Just to hear their voices. I miss them so much. I hate not being able to look in on them before I go to bed. Uncovering Dickie's head again as he sleeps. Covering up Kathleen with her blanket that she kicked off at some point. Just to know that all four of them are safe in their beds. I miss that.

There's even a part of me that misses Kathy. Coming home on those nights that I knew that I wouldn't be going to sleep anytime soon, but just listening to her softly breathing next to me. She was safe, too. Where did it all go wrong? How did it go wrong? I did all the right things that I was supposed to do. I'm supporting my family. Facing the evils of the city on a near daily basis. Just so that my family are safe and taken care of. So why does it feel like I'm being punished? Like there was a moment that was so clear to the rest of the world when I made a bad decision? I wish...

I don't know what I wish. I could say that I wish I could go back and change it. But what's to say that one decision in a course of a twenty-year marriage was the one that caused this separation? For me to be separated from my kids?

The phone's ringing. I guess it's not that late. The wall clock says it's not even eight o'clock. Guess the rain and chill just made it feel later. The Caller ID shows Kathy's name. It's got to be the kids.

I gotta answer this. I need to answer this. I need...


End file.
